


Coin Toss

by Hopetohell



Category: Night Hunter (2018), Sand Castle (2017)
Genre: Angst, Bodily Fluids, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Smut, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 17:06:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28834611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hopetohell/pseuds/Hopetohell
Summary: Sy is— well. To you, he's an unknown, but Walter likes him so he must be alright; at any rate he looks thick as hell under his clothes, and even thicker out of them, all muscle and hairSomething of a sequel to Lakeside, in its way.
Relationships: Walter marshall/captain syverson/you, walter marshall/captain syverson/reader
Kudos: 5





	Coin Toss

_Want to flip a coin, darlin?_ Sy’s voice is soft and sweet, just the barest edge of mischief in his words. And you take him in, all of him, down to the salt lines on his faded green shirt, the honest sweat and musk that you know is clinging to him and 

_Nah. I know already. I wanna suck you. Please?_

Sy is— well. To you, he's an unknown, but Walter likes him so he must be alright; at any rate he looks thick as hell under his clothes, and even thicker out of them, all muscle and hair and _Walter please. Please. I want to. I want to taste him, can I?_

And _yeah, of course you can, he wouldn’t be here otherwise. But don’t make it too quick, sweetheart. I want to be buried in your cunt when he comes down your throat and_

_You know just how to sweet talk a girl._

Walter’s a little rougher, a little cruder, when you're playing with a third. It’s that little burst of possessiveness that makes him grip your hips a little tighter, that makes him bottom out in one long and sweetly agonizing thrust, that makes the _filthiest_ words fall from his lips. 

And Walter vets these men, practically stalks them, til he’s satisfied. Except for— but that’s another matter entirely, one he keeps locked and bound inside his chest. It's raw, even now, and if he doesn't like to talk about it, who can blame him? You don't talk about it either.

(And here at the lake house, the sound of wavelets filters in through the open window; in autumn the air is bittersweet with the promise of frost and it's been a year, almost. But if you leave the windows open you might hear him coming up the drive, boots crunching on gravel and)

_Hey. Darlin. You alright?_ Sy's flagging, concerned, reaching and his hands are warm. They're warm and broad and calloused, cradling your face like you're made of glass, like he's not sure how he fits here or what's turning through your mind, but damn it he's going to try to fix it. 

_Fine. Just memories, is all._

And here you are, Walter and Sy and you

(and your ghost)

And everything is almost as it should be; Sy is naked, scars here and there and everywhere furred with hair, redder than you thought it would be; Walter stays dressed to keep his armor up, to shield himself (and therefore you) behind layers of wool and denim. He says _hands and knees_ like he's calling you to prayer, and what can you do except kneel for him; what is there to be done except strain your head forward to mouth at Sy's cock and receive his benediction. And Sy is careful with his hands in your hair; he grounds himself with a loose grip but knows better than to pull

( _Here are the rules._ )

You can taste sweat on Sy's skin; he is all salt, all great outdoors and gritty air and when you mouth at his sac it draws a groan from him, low and fervent. It would make you weak, hearing that sort of sound from someone that large and strong, but Walter chooses now to sink his tongue into your hole and thought is suddenly, completely gone. 

_(Don't pull her hair._ )

_Walter._ The words are garbled around the soft skin of Sy's sac, around the wiry hairs laid on your tongue. _Walter, please. Open me up, I need it. Need you in me, come on. Please._

_Shh, sweetheart._ Walter's hands are big like the rest of him; he peels you open and licks into your core, seemingly right through to your spine; it's all wetness and soft groans and grey light filtering in. 

( _When she says stop, everything stops.)_

And there's Walter slipping inside; the burn and stretch of him is so much, even with all the preparation he's done. And it's _good, christ it's good. Sy. Are you paying attention? let her feel just that little edge of pain. It does the trick every time._

_(If you call her Pet, I will tear out your tongue and make you eat it.)_

And listen. Listen. Walter feels like he'll split you in half, just like the first time. But he's there, not moving, waiting. _Sweetheart. Swallow him down. Make him whine. So pretty like this, all filled up._

And Sy tastes just like you'd imagined; there's that salty sweat taste under your tongue; it's musky and sharp and you could have him like this always, warm and willing and strangely pliant even with his cock down your throat, deep enough that you could feel the bulge of him through cartilage and skin if only you had the presence of mind to feel for it.

Every motion of Walter's hips drives him deeper. In turn, you swallow and lick and take every little sound inside yourself, subconsciously filing them away for later, when you're wrapped in Walter's sweater and you have the leisure to take a moment and think about this, about how it's all nearly overwhelming.

Because here is Sy, and if he doesn't feel quite the same on your tongue

_(Let me, let me, I just want)_

he feels good in his own way; you can nearly feel your body making room, shoving over sadness to make a man-shaped smear inside you. When he comes, it's with not a roar but a punched-out _oh;_ there's Walter close behind, filling your cunt in long pulses.

( _I just want to make you feel good)_

__And even now you feel it: that connection, that long and shivering need as they draw you down; Walter licks you clean and draws the taste of your shared fluids into himself like a secret; Sy has very little to say aside from a _gorgeous, darlin, look at you. Thank you._

_(Won't you let me?)_

It's raining again. And there's that susurrus of rain on leaves and water and the expanse of the porch roof; there is only room in your senses for these men, these big men bright like stars, and a memory you can't quite shake. 

_(Pet. I know. I know. It's alright. You'll see)_


End file.
